Learning to Shoot
by Sir Ben Evans IV of Kanto
Summary: Contrary to popular belief, learning to shoot a bow didn't come naturally for little Katniss Everdeen. (Family fluff)


**Oh, Lucy! I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaaack!**

 **I'm not dead! Wait...maybe I'm a zombie and I just don't know it?**

 **So this story was written a year ago at a camp I went to, but I never posted it due to chronic lazyitis.**

 **Disclaimer: Roses are cows, violets are pineapples, do I own the Hunger Games? No, do you?**

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Just as the last autumn leaves dropped from the forest canopy of the year I turned eight, I remember my father taking me past the fence beyond our home just before morning broke. He silently treaded in front of me, his soft leather boots never stepping on the occasion twig. I shuffled behind him and pulled my thin, worn jacket closer to me as another chilling breeze swept through the forest and drowsily tried to rub the sleep from my eyes. My father looked back at me every so often and smiled softly before returning his attention back to finding our unknown destination.

He stopped behind an old hickory tree and grunted, readjusting the two archery bows and quivers sitting on his broad shoulders before motioning for me to stand beside him. Slowly sliding one of the bows off of his shoulder, he pulled out a single arrow and aimed it pass the tree and toward a patch of wild blueberry bushes.

He squinted his eyes as he looked down the wooden shaft and waited patiently before releasing the arrow suddenly. _Thwack!_ Something dropped carelessly onto the canopy floor, and when I cautiously looked from behind my father, I saw a pale female robin with his arrow stuck in her stomach.

My father set the bow in my hands before swiftly walked over to the dead robin and pulled out the arrow to clean it and then placed it back into one of the cloth quivers of his back. Once his work was done with the arrow, he slowly picked up the robin and placed her in a thick pouch to be later cleaned and gutted to be eaten later.

I looked at him attentively behind the hickory tree and waited for him to motion for me to walk beside him, but he shook his head and pointed behind me. Across from where I stood, a much smaller tree sat, and a squirrel scurried up the base of it with a mouthful of nuts.

My father quietly walked up to me and handed me a new arrow. I inspected the arrow and looked up at him, confused and sleepy, before handing the arrow back to him. He smiled softly and shook his head. Using his hands to adjust my own, he set the arrow onto the bow I was still holding and shifted my hands to point the arrow toward the squirrel.

Leaning to my ear, he whispered, "Now, whenever you're ready, shoot. Just like I did."

I gulped and shakily pulled my arm back. I struggled to keep the arrow in place and gazed down the long, narrow shaft. I looked up at the squirrel one last time before heaving a deep breath of the cold, sticky air.

In an instant, I shut my eyes tight and let go of the arrow. _Plunk!_ I opened my eyes full of hope to see the squirrel scurrying away to another tree. My father sighed, rubbing his clean-shaven chin thoughtfully, and looked over to the pond past an alcove of trees and brush. Floating away to the other side of the pond, where the tall grass of the empty meadow stood, my arrow slowly away from my father and me.

My father pinched the bridge between his eyes in anguish and shook his head. I glared down at my hands and the wooden bow, embarrassed at my father's disappointment.

He put one of his large hands on my shoulder and looked me in the eye before slowly smiling softly again. He leaned over to my ear and whispered, "That's enough for today, let's go home now. Your mother and sister are probably getting worried by now."

He took the bow from my hands and slid it back over his large shoulder. Putting one of his hands behind my back to push me forward, he led us back to the fence and our small, dingy house.

I glared over at the rabbit sitting under the blueberry bush near the frozen pond, happily munching on the vegetation. The sun was setting and my father hadn't come home just yet from the mines.

I leaned back onto the old, bare hickory tree and tugged at my braid irately. I shuffled my boots, the leaves from autumn crunching under the light dusting of snow that fell from last night, and huffed, my warm breath visibly hanging in front of me before mixing into the air.

My father's bows and quivers of arrows sat under the knot of the tree I was standing at. Every morning he took me out past the fence to practice shooting, but I have yet to hit _near_ the target. I glared at the rabbit once more before soundlessly picking up the bow and a single arrow and set my aim at the creature.

Glaring down the shaft, I pulled back my arm and released the arrow. _Klunk!_ I saw the rabbit bolt away from me and my arrow stuck in one of the small oak trees' trunk that neighbored the patch of blueberries.

I angrily muttered words under my breath and went over to my arrow. Pulling and yanking as hard as I could with my eight-year-old might, I still couldn't dislodge the arrow from the tree.

"You're getting closer," a man's gravelly voice, my father's, said from behind me. He leaned on the hickory tree and looked at me thoughtfully before walking over to me.

I slumped my shoulders and lowered my head in disappointment. My father, who still wore his mining outfit and had a dusting of coal all over him, tugged my arrow once and it immediately popped out of the young oak tree.

"But you really shouldn't close your eyes when you shoot," my father leaned to my ear and whispered playfully. He ruffled my hair with his large hand and took my over to the hickory tree.

He lightly shoved me in front of him and placed a bow in my hands and the arrow I shot with before. Rubbing one of his hands on his face to clear it of coal dust, he walked over to another tree and slapped his hand to the trunk, leaving a large, black handprint.

"Now," he started, looking at me expectantly. "Try to shoot something that _doesn't_ run away."

Quickly walking back to the hickory tree, my father crouched behind me and waited patiently.

I took a deep breath of the frigid air and aim at my father's handprint. I pulled back my arm and glared down the shaft before releasing the arrow. _Klunk!_ My father patted me on the back and I saw my arrow lodged in the tree next to my father's handprint.

"See?" I muttered angrily and glared at my arrow. "I can't do it."

"Katniss, it takes time to learn how to shoot. If it didn't, everyone would try to learn how," my father chuckled and took the bow from me. "Just keep practicing and you'll get it. But not right now; your mother is upset you weren't there to help with dinner."

"Sorry," I mumbled and looked down at my boots.

My father chuckled and stood up, "You should tell that to your mother once we get this cleaned up."

"Just once more, Katniss. Then we'll go home," my father whispered in my ear and then leaned back on the old hickory tree that now had leaves beginning to sprout from its branches.

I aimed my arrow to the mark across the meadow on the tall birch tree. Taking a deep breath of the sickly sweet air of the spring to come, I soundlessly mouthed a countdown as I pulled my arm back.

I bit my lip nervously and looked down the shaft. I suddenly released the arrow and watched as it flew. _Klunk!_ My father smiled and rubbed the scruff of the back of my neck fondly. The very tip of the pointer finger of my father's handprint was where my arrow was lodged.

I grinned from ear to ear and dropped my father's bow to turn around and hug him tightly. I felt giddy as he hugged back and we both laughed, not caring if we scared the animals away.

"Now, Katniss," my father started and looked down at me.

"Keep practicing, I know, Dad," I giggled and snuggled into my father's chest. "I know."

I looked over at the deer grazing in the meadow and aimed one of my father's arrows at its head. An orange leaf fell from the old hickory tree I had come to love and I smiled as I took a breath of cool, crisp air.

"And what are you planning to do with that, Catnip?" someone chuckled behind me. I released the arrow at the deer, but missed and the deer bolted away to safety.

I whirled around to see Gale, his eyebrows raised in amusement, leaning on the hickory tree. I huffed and slammed my foot in anguish, my boot rustling the dry leaves.

"Dang it, Gale!" I scowled. I glared back where the deer stood a couple of minutes ago, and then back at Gale. "I don't know! Maybe I was going to give it to the peacekeepers!"

"As if they're going to take it _today_ ," Gale smirked smugly. Behind his back, he's holding a small cloth bag.

I sighed and we started to walk over to the pond together, "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Oh, before I forget!" Gale grinned and held out his bag for me to open. I gave him a strange look before taking his bag into my hands to open it cautiously. Inside there was a small loaf of bread, still warm and toasty.

"Oh my-" I laughed and pulled out the bread and broke it half, giving Gale one of the pieces. "where did you get this?"

"Mr. Mallark," Gale mumbled as he ate some of the bread, crumb spilling out of his mouth. " Traded him only two squirrels for it. I guess he was feeling pretty generous today."

"Oh, yeah," I scowled once I remember what today was. Today is Prim's first reaping.

Gale saw my expression and laughed to lighten the mood and made a funny face before announcing in the Capitol's signature accent, "Well, may the odds-"

"Be _ever_ in your favor," I finished and laughed along with him.

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 **Ta da! My first Hunger Games fic! Was it awful?**

 **So, uh...REVIEW? Thank ya kindly!**

 **Signing out,**

 **~Sir Ben Evans IV of Kanto**


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